


Aisles

by H_E_A_R_T_H



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/F, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Postpartum Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Young Grell Sutcliff, heavy themes of depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:01:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H_E_A_R_T_H/pseuds/H_E_A_R_T_H
Summary: Cecilia Cromwell lived a wealthy life, with much love and little to no misfortunes. She steadily succumbs to depression after marrying, overwhelmed with postpartum depression that later develops into psychosis. For Cecilia, a wealthy noble with a wonderful life of not a single thing she could have changed to make her mental health better, suicide is inevitable.





	Aisles

The best and worst days of my life were both very similar. I woke early in the morning, was stuffed into a corset and prepped for hours, shuffled down an aisle with several eyes peering at me a little past noon, then cried myself to sleep by midnight. As always, the good news is delivered first. Held on a silver platter, made sweeter by the small details, then stolen and shredded by the looming unfavourable news that's forgotten about by the end of the first story.

My maid helped me into a corset that morning, then assisted me in adorning my dress. It was ivory, made of thin white material, with buttons leading from my stomach all the way to my throat. The sleeves ended in thick lace, long at my wrists and hanging several centimetres if I were to hold my hands out straight from my body.

It's uncomfortable, and the dress doesn't look all that pretty, to begin with. The collar is tight and itches my chin. I despise corsets, I only wore it because my mother scolded me. As well as that, the tool is itchy and irritating my legs.

My maid smiled at me. "It's only for today, my lady," She reassures, patting my shoulders. She moves to begin doing my hair, putting it into a bun and securing a thick veil over me. There was to be no makeup, my fiance despised it on me.

That was what my morning consisted of, mostly. Afterwards, I was escorted to the church via carriage. I remember complaining the entire way, unbuttoning the front of my dress several times. My maid would rebutton it and laugh several times, but I could tell even she was growing increasingly irritated with my actions. I paid her feelings no mind.

My parents had already arrived, along with everyone else. "Late, as per usual," My father teased as I was helped out of my carriage by one of my butlers. I hadn't learned his name yet, he worked for my fiance until previously. "It's good to see you haven't grown up yet, sweetheart." My father lifted my veil, planting a kiss on my forehead.

"Let us be on our way," Like always, my mother focused on more important affairs. She's always been our anchor. "We're ten minutes behind schedule. I wouldn't be surprised if there are rumours spreading that you've gotten cold feet."

I nodded, deciding it best to remain silent. My mother looked stressed, and when she was stressed, she took as many chances as she could to start a fight. Despite it being my wedding day, I wouldn't put it past her to lay her heels on the pavement and throw a couple of fists.

My father escorted my mother to her seat, and then he came back for me. When we stride down the aisle, music played and everyone stood. Until then, I'd been viewing this like any other event. Get ready, show my face, greet a couple of people and leave as soon as possible so I could vent about how troublesome the whole affair was to servants and my fiance.

With all eyes on me, I realized just how wrong I was. It was then the butterflies inside me flurried and swarmed, my breathing faltering. I saw my fiance across the room, seeing him hopping from foot to foot in excitement. Before me was barely visible behind my thick veil, but his figure was unmistakable. I never realized how close we were until my father's arm left mine, and my hands were clasped in my fiance's.

Exchanging vows was tiresome. I hated it, I could've simply kissed the man and converted him to my husband in one quick instance. Instead, I stood and repeated what I was told when I was told to.

I'd kissed many men before then. This was different, every fibre of my being felt a wild mixture of chills and flames that were a messy mix of feelings I could never accurately describe. Give me a million years and unlimited ink and paper, and I might never finish naming all the possible ways I could describe and rephrase how good it felt.

Moving was a daze for me. I was stuck with one thought on loop; _Is this real_? I nod along and smile at guests, laugh when needed. I eat and dance, linger from group to group. The night is a blur, I don't remember anything the next day despite drinking no alcohol. The last thing I remember is kissing the love of my life.

My newly pronounced husband and I run home in the rain, ditching our carriage. We make our way in a flurry of kisses and giggles, one or two servants passing hurriedly as to not disturb us. Instead of making love, we sob happily in disbelief, loud and obnoxious.

Now that I've told you about my wonderful husband, let me steal that fairy tale love story back. Forget it if you'd like, maybe everything you read past this point will come as less of a shock and affect you differently. If you have a heart of steel, - that I doubt, _no one_ no matter how tough they think they are could truly be unaffected by every sorrowful scene they'd come across - then give your attempt.

Several years before I was married, there was a different aisle I was forced to trudge down. Walking down the aisle to your wedding is one thing. Walking down the aisle to see your best friend's corpse is a whole other story. In life, I associated Grell with toothy grins and misplaced jokes, with bad timing and clumsiness. Never once did I associate them with stillness, eeriness.

Their funeral was relatively silent. No speeches, no one could manage it. The rare crying was silent, most people were still shell-shocked. Grell had their issues, but they'd never voiced suicidal tendencies. Not even to me, though they told me everything besides that.

I wished I could have seen their wrists. The coffin was only open so I could see around their shoulders and above. How deep were the cuts? Were there more than just the two which ended their life? I couldn't ask their parents, I was too ashamed at the fact that I'd never once expected this.

Just like my wedding night, after meeting with the love of my life at the end of an aisle, despite our love not being romantic but a stele platonic bond, the night was a blur. I went home without remembering anything but Grell's face, sobbing loudly into my pillow. There was a smile on their face. Maybe the morgue workers forced their lips, or maybe that's just how Grell died. I wouldn't know for a long time. Their calm face was burned into the back of my mind, being ignited on a particularly bad day. A bad day consisted of bad weather, or maybe running a minute behind schedule. The worst thing that had ever happened to me was Grell's death, because I truly had no other misfortunes.


End file.
